


Amidst the Ruins

by Ramzes



Series: A Trial of Blood and Loss [2]
Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin
Genre: Angst, Gen, character exploration
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-14
Updated: 2018-03-31
Packaged: 2019-03-31 09:07:46
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 5,005
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13971822
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ramzes/pseuds/Ramzes
Summary: Baelor Breakspear only wanted to save a hedge knight. An innocent. And in doing so, he left so many lives in ruins.





	1. Maekar

Shadows has started reaching with dark fingers further and further inside the bedchamber, dulling the radiance of the immaculately kept silver brush. Looking at it, Maekar noticed the few brown hairs tangled between the teeth and smiled a little. Not so immaculately kept, after all. She must have been truly worried if she had failed to follow her ritual of cleaning every single thing after using it.

Saryl Lothston followed his eyes. “What… ah, this.” She shook her head. “I’ll throw them away right now.”

But she did not move. Still, Maekar reached for her hand and took it. “Not now,” he said and she leaned back against the pillows. “I had no idea that it’s been so long,” he added with some surprise. “Look, twilight is already here.”

She glanced at the window and while she did not say a thing, he knew that she had not noticed either. She had been entirely focused on him. Still, it shocked him that they had both lost account of time so entirely. Not that time had passed as it ought to after this terrible day at Ashford but still. And he knew how much time had passed since then. Nine days. This knowledge comforted him, told him that he had not lost his mind. Yet.

Not that he would lose it at all, of course. No such luck. And even if he did, he doubted he’d ever be as carefree as Rhaegel. It was all about temper and well, conscience. Rhaegel had never offended or hurt anybody. He certainly had not killed anyone.

Maekar, on the other hand, had just added another body to his list, however inadvertently.  He did not deserve peace and he would not get it.

He sighed. “I have to go,” he said.

“Why?” Saryl asked. “There is no feast tonight.”

“No, there isn’t any.”

Soon enough, there would be. As soon as the mourning was over. But not now. Maekar was glad for this small respite, this chance to come back and spend the evening and night with her. Although it would bring her no joy, he was sure.

“You can see the King later,” she said, startling him as she sometimes did with the way she could read his intentions before he could as much as give a hint.  “Stay with me.”

Dyanna had been the same, although her seriousness had been hidden behind layers of japes, fantasies, making light of the situation. The core had been the same, as hard and glinting as a diamond, this sharp focus on what moved him and the drive to make it better. He shuddered at the thought of what would have become of him if he had not found Saryl after Dyanna’s horrific death.

If she had come with him to Ashford, perhaps…  He chased this thought away before it could fully form. Saryl was not responsible for what he did or did not do. And he knew she hated the riverlands with a passion akin to his own hatred for King’s Landing. Why drag her to a place where she could not take any part in the public life next to him? As much as she professed indifference, he knew that the treatment she received hurt her. She might be a beneficial influence on his temper but he was not her _responsibility_.

The sin was his alone.

He should now face his father and he knew it, yet he did not want to leave here. Fear of the King was not a feeling he was accustomed to and he knew that he could not bear it to hear the accusations he kept repeating in his head echoed in Daeron’s voice. For the first time since Ashford, he felt almost at peace here, with her. His throat was raw from tears and words…  he was taken aback at just how many words he had gathered on the way back. She had listened silently, not letting go of him for a moment.

He supposed meeting his father could wait, as cowardly as this was. Hiding from the world would not make his deed disappear. He looked at her. “Do you think I should go to the girls?” he asked and saw how she immediately switched to her part of caretaker – which was her official role in his household.

“No,” she replied. “Not until you’re more composed. I have taken care to limit the damage as much as possible but they… they’re scared. And upset.”

Maekar nodded, trusting her judgment far more than his own. After all, he had proven just how trustworthy his was where his children were concerned – and Baelor had paid the price. _It was a mishap,_ he thought for a thousandth time but he did not say it. There was no need. Not to her.

Dyanna could never understand what it felt like to always _be_ the one in the shadows. The one not good enough. She had always been the bright sun attracting everyone’s notice and appreciation without doing more than stirring. Just like Baelor had. The fact that they had done much more had only elevated them to an almost godlike status.

Saryl had always dwelled in the world of shadows. She knew the feeling of their touch on the surface of her soul, knew how easy it was to let them in sometimes and how hard to force them out. The feeling of being considered just these shadows and not the rest of one’s soul. It was not other people’s fault – they only saw what Saryl and Maekar _could_ show. The obvious. The bitterness.  But the two of them – they were one of a kind. Sometimes, he wondered how it had come that they were not feeding each other’s anguish, the feeling that they had been disadvantaged by the Seven themselves in the moment of their conception when the gods had failed to place in them some bits that were so very necessary.

Had it been bitterness guiding his hand? Or the pure instinct of self-defense? He would never know, not unless he remembered this particular blow. He told her this and she shook her head. “It doesn’t matter,” she said insistently, looking him in the eye. “What matters is that the leading thing in your attitude to him was not bitterness. What?” she asked sharply. “What is it?”

Maekar silently stirred, moving closer. He did not want to share with her the memory that had suddenly arose, of Dyanna in another room, another kingdom, another life. “As long as you don’t let bitterness become the axis around which your life revolves, it will be all right,” she had said in those days when he had first _felt_ that it did not matter what he did, that he would always be looked as inferior – before, he had just known it with his mind but after Redgrass Field, he had seen and felt it in reality. That the love his family had for him and their trust in his loyalty would not overcome political caution, never this after Daemon’s rebellion.

But he had let bitterness become this, these last few years. Blinding him to reality. Pushing his children into the rivalry that he had never had the chance to win himself. And now, he would never have the chance to make it right. Not after committing the ultimate horror.

“Stay with me,” Saryl said again. “Everything can wait. “

After committing the ultimate horror, he could commit the ultimate cowardice as well, why not? In the face of danger, he had never looked for a shelter but always gone to face it without delay; this time, he stayed away from the judging eyes of the world that had already proclaimed him guilty – which, of course, he was. Away from his father, although he’d have to look him in the eye soon enough and explain. Away from the two little girls who had no idea how it had come to this and were likely even more confused than him.

“Do you want me to light the candles?” Saryl finally asked right before the twilight gave way to full night reflecting the dark that had invaded his soul. In a minute or two, they’d have to scramble for the candles; now, she could still find them easily enough.

“No,” he replied. He did not need to see her. It was enough that he could feel the warmth of her skin, the soothing rhythm of her heart under his cheek, the hand on his back. Shadows and silence, darkness and touch, the two of them had been born to. Shelter. Delay. A place away from the world for one night, at least, although not away from the guilt. Never this.

He stayed.


	2. Daeron

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to everyone for commenting, you're a great inspiration!

Waking up a little before dawn had been a habit of his long before he became King, long before he even wed Mariah. When they were first wed, she used to jest that he must have a sand clock with a little hand hidden somewhere in him – a clock to wait for the imminent arrival of dawn and a hand to shake him awake. He was touched when as early as their first month together, she trained herself to wake up at the same time, so they could have a little time for themselves before the world could lay claim. Get to know each other. The sight of the dawn turning the snow pink… How excited Mariah always was.

Since her death, he had been reluctant to wake up at all, knowing that he wouldn’t find her face on the pillow next to his. If duty tried to make his way through his not-fully-there conscience, he turned to the other side and with his back to his duty because her lack burned as fierce and non-repairable as losing a limb . He slept through the time that had been meant for their first tea for thirty years, had a look at his correspondence much later , took the books that they had most loved to read in this early hour away, stopped himself from summoning a carpenter to open the unopenable locker with her miniatures. The initial sharp pain took over a year to heal.

Now, he once again felt this painful reluctance to wake up even to his new time a little after sunrise because he knew that he would have to remember something… something terrible.  But finally, he did and the pain crushed over him, as engulfing as a fire. Baelor was dead – by Maekar’s hand. And to Daeron’s eternal shame, he felt that the second was just as bad as the first. Perhaps even more. Fathers were not meant to survive their sons but he had accepted that he might when he had sent two of his to end the threat that he could not eliminate himself. He could remember few aches like this but he had sent them there, for this was his duty. And theirs. And they had won the victory but the Seven might have just decided to make things happen the other way. They had known it as well and they had still gone – what should they have done, refused?

No one had known, no one could have expected that Baelor would emerge from this trial a victor – and doomed. A doomed victor. Cold shivers would go down Daeron’s always aching spine and the covers – two more since the first black bird had arrived – could do nothing to chase it away.

Still, the Stranger came to those who least expected it. Wars. Road accidents. Mishaps. But it was never a brother who was meant to put an end to a brother’s life. As much as Daeron was loathe to admit it, it felt like a mistake that _he_ had made. Something that he had overlooked. Something that he should have done differently. Anything. Was this arrogance on his part? Presumptuousness? Certainly. Self-pity? Yes, this as well. Mariah had been the lucky one, after all. But this, he had known since the beginning of her decline. Sometimes in their youth, they had talked about this, about how lucky the one who died first would be. Died and not left to mourn the other. _What would you have said now, Mariah,_ Daeron wondered, knowing that she would have done the same thing that he was now doing. Looking for fault into herself, trying to glean out what she could have changed to change the outcome.

At this point, he always startled, realizing belatedly what this train of thought meant. That the tragedy had been dependent on their behavior. That Maekar had done it… no, Daeron could not even finish this thought because it was too terrible to contemplate, as certain as he was that it had been an accident with no intention behind it. These two had been at each other’s throats since Maekar had been born – literally. Baelor had gone to visit the newborn monster that his grandfather had expected to arrive – and had tripped and overturned the cradle with the not even a day old Maekar inside. A gibe from Baelor that his five-year-old brother could not even climb onto Baelor’s first proper horse, let alone have one of his own, had led to such an attempt, ending with Maekar’s near death. Years later, Maekar had broken his brother’s nose – aiming for his other brother’s. There had never been any intent behind any of this and over time, Daeron and Mariah had become reconciled with the idea that these two would often solve their arguments by fists before actually solving them. Perhaps we shouldn’t have.

Too little, too late.

No, Maekar had not meant it and it did not matter how many whispered that he had. Still, Daeron felt such anger and fury that he had no desire to see him right now. Not in the next few years, in fact! Of course, he had no choice. If he avoided his son, the rumours would start plaguing their House even worse and words were not winds. Daeron had learned this lesson very painfully long ago. Both he and Maekar would just have to suffer their way through this. Pretend that nothing had happened at all. It felt disrespectful to Baelor somehow, although he would have understood. He would have.

Meeting Valarr was the first trial Daeron had to go through. The boy still looked shell-shocked but was doing his best to conduct himself as his father would have wanted. Daeron suddenly felt the urge to hit him because he was already aware about the armour thing. If Baelor had not been wearing Valarr’s helmet, perhaps he would have stood a chance, and he would not have been wearing it if Valarr had showed any inclination to take part in the trial. Daeron was sure that Baelor had wished and expected this. He would have expected it as well. Of course, he knew that his grandson had likely been unwilling to reveal the true state of his martial skills in front of men who would not aim to lose gracefully – the Seven knew that at Valarr’s age, he had been quite reluctant to show that he only knew where the tip of the spear should go. In theory. But even then, he had consciously reined in his image when justice had been concerned. Baelor had been as willing to close his eyes to Valarr’s faults as Maekar was to Daeron and Aerion’s. Well, they both took after their father, did they not? It had taken him over a decade to admit what he could not expect of Aerys and Rhaegel.

Losing Baelor was bad enough but he had lost Maekar as well. Things with his youngest son could never be the same. He had lost his grandsons as well in a way – he was no longer willing to overlook their weaknesses. He was glad that Aerion was now on his way to Lys and he would be happy to send Valarr to Dragonstone for a while – a long while. Instead, he had to teach the boy to be a good king because they were just about running out of time. The ailments plaguing him were not this serious but adding up to the back pain that had trailed him all his life, they were weakening him down. His bones were becoming fragile. And he had lost any desire to live the day his queen had breathed her last. But now, he had to rally himself, reassure the realm that nothing had changed when all had changed for him, and prepare a successor removed from him not one but two generations. _Well, I was removed from my own grandfather by a generation as well_ , he tried to reassure himself but he knew it wasn’t the same. Sometimes, his father had said that it felt like Daeron was Viserys’ child and not his and Naerys’ because the two of them were so much alike. Sometimes, they had even finished each other’s sentences. As much as Daeron loved all his grandchildren, he did not have this kind of relationship with any of them save one, and he had sent this one off to the Citadel.

They would just have to soldier through this. He waited with horror to see Maekar for the first time, dreaded to hear the words that it had been a mishap for some reason. Which was ridiculous – what did he want to see, that it had _not_ been?

He waited and waited through the first day since his son’s arrival. Then, the second one. On the third one, he woke up with the strange confidence that Maekar would not come at all. But he wanted for this dreaded meeting to be over, so he headed for his son’s chambers before the Small Council was even gathered. Only to hear by the servants that their lord had not come here at all since he had left for Harrenhal. Which sent him to a place that he had avoided for years, had never acknowledged the existence of the lady dwelling there either.

The chambers were not anywhere close to resplendent, not compared to the standards Daeron’s father had demanded for his own mistresses, but there was no doubt that it was a royal abode, even if only because of the fact that Maekar spent a good deal of his time here. Rich tapestries. Thick carpets in many colours. Ornaments of precious stained glass – Daeron’s eye was attracted to those because it was a strange sort of mistress who did not prefer the prize of gold instead of the beauty and rarity of glass.

The woman who curtseyed and welcomed him was not what he remembered of royal mistresses either. Not nearly as lovely. Dressed quite simply – in fact, since she had not expected any visitors, she wore just a dark green robe, albeit trimmed with fur.

“I wish to talk to my son,” Daeron said immediately after acknowledging her curtsey. He had no time to waste on her, not now and not after she had become a point of contention between him and Maekar years ago. “Is he still here?”

“Yes, Your Grace,” Saryl Lothston replied. “And I don’t think he’s going anywhere soon.”

Daeron frowned. “What does this mean? Is he sick?” For a brief, glorious moment he forgot everything else, consumed by worry. Maekar was never sick, not like other people, so when he did, it was usually something threatening his life or body integrity.

The moment didn’t last, of course it didn’t.

“No,” the woman replied. “He’s just weary as he sometimes is. He lacks the willpower to rise from his bed. I expect that in two or three days, it will pass.”

Daeron’s frown deepened. “But you say he isn’t ill.”

“He isn’t,” she confirmed. “It’s just one of his episodes of lethargy and despair. This one was undoubtedly provoked by what happened at Harrenhal. I assure you that as soon as he emerges from it, he’s going to visit you.”

“One of his _episodes_?” Daeron repeated. “For how long has this been happening?” he asked sharply. Had Dyanna’s death marked Maekar even more deeply than he knew? Had…

“For thirty years,” Saryl Lothston replied. “He’s going to be fine, eventually,” she added. “He always is.”

Daeron shook his head. “This can’t be. I would have known if he had had these since he was a child.”

She gave him a long look. “Would you?” she asked  and the unspoken answer haunted him through the day, from the Small Council to the sanctuary of his own chambers where he was only attended by his oldest servants and surrounded by his books. Would he? He clearly had not known. How many things he did not know about Maekar? Did he know him well enough to be able to say for sure that it _had_ been a mishap? Truly?

 


	3. Closure

Maekar’s woman had gotten even the day right. Three days after the brief conversation that had left him reeling, his son entered his solar as he opened the first letters on the silver tray. The slight surprise crossing Maekar’s face made him realize that he had unwittingly returned to his old routine, the one he had shared with Mariah when everyone’s life had been still life and not the thing they were inhabiting now.

The pale sunlight cast Maekar’s face in sharp relief, exposing every line that had not been there a month ago, the bags underhis eyes, the frightening pallor veiling his face. He might have spent all this time – six days! – abed but he had not slept. Not truly. Daeron felt relief followed by a prickle of ugly rejoicing that made him recoil from himself.

“What are we going to do now?” Maekar asked. Even now, he had been quick to move to a spot where the light did not shine upon him and shadows swallowed his face. For many years, this had been a habit of his when talking to his parents about something that truly moved him and it had upset Mariah greatly, always. It had made Daeron feel saddened sometimes but right now, this hiding that had taken a mind of its own, separated from his son’s own consciousness, was a relief. He did not want to look at Maekar.

“I don’t know,” he finally said. “You tell me.”

Maekar stared right ahead, as unwilling to meet Daeron’s eyes as Daeron was to meet his. “I only know how to do one thing – carry on. Go on.”

“This is what I expected to hear,” Daeron said and the anger in his own voice surprised him, yet at the same time it did not because if Maekar had been capable of doing more things, perhaps they would not be having this conversation. Daeron had always felt guilty for the poison that had been gathering in his son’s heart ever since Maekar had realized, so early on, that he was not needed at all and certainly not as cherished as his brothers. So early on that Daeron and Mariah had not even seen it – it had become such an integrate part of his development as his fair hair and complexion. But they had tried to make things right later, had they not? For over twenty years, Maekar had received more recognition and token and not token jests of affection and appreciation than a fourth son could ever dream of. He should have stopped dwelling in the shadows formed by his own mind long ago. If not for his jealously of Baelor, perhaps Daeron and Aegon would not have left for Harrenhal at all; if not for a rivalry that only existed in his head alone, he would not have been so desperate for the things that he could not have. Baelor had easily acknowledged the things Maekar bested him in. Why had Maekar been unable to do the same? Striving for the unreachable and carrying on when his heart was breaking, these were the things he bested everyone in.

Maekar winced and the strain he put on himself not to turn and search his father’s expression was visible. “Do you want me to leave?” he asked. “I can, you know. I can be gone by noon.”

“I know you _can_ ,” Daeron snapped. “But you _won’t_. Did you have a look at yourself before you left the bedchamber this morning? You need some more time abed, not doing anything and certainly not traveling.”

This time, Maekar turned his head and stared at him. The light had shifted and his face was clearly visible. “Wait. You’re concerned about _me_ now? I thought we were talking about Baelor’s death. What did you expect, that I’d tell you that there was a mistake? There wasn’t. I was the one who did it. There was no one else who could have,” he finished in a softer voice, now talking to himself.

 _He doesn’t remember. He knows but he does not_ know _._

The thought shook Daeron to the very core, the true extent of the torment that Maekar was living in echoing through his entire being, reaching his heart, pushing anger and resentment aside and leaving only the fierce protective drive that he had felt mere minutes after his youngest son’s birth. Love for his children had never come immediately to him, not the way it had for Mariah, but when it had come, nothing could sway it, not even a tragedy like this one.

“We were talking of what we are going to do now,” Daeron said. “I want you to go back to your chambers and stay there until you’re truly better, at least a little. I don’t want to see you like this… but I suppose you already know this. That’s why you never showed me anything but what I wanted to see, isn’t it?”

For a moment, Maekar stared at him before shaking his head. “So Rhaegel has finally talked to you,” he said. “In fact, I’m surprised that he kept silent for so many years. He always insisted that I should tell you and Mother because I couldn’t deal on my own.”

Daeron didn’t understand, at first. Rhaegel? Maekar had told Rhaegel but not his parents? The pain was unexpected and severe, along with the renewed realization that he did not know his sons half as well as he thought. Rhaegel keeping such a secret for years, not dropping a hint even in his fits?

“It wasn’t Rhaegel,” he finally said.

Maekar sighed impatiently at his expression. “We aren’t going into this now, are we?” he said. “The short answer is, I made great efforts to keep it private and since I wasn’t a boy who inspired any great desire for company, it’s no wonder that you and Mother didn’t find out.”

 _You were our boy_ , Daeron thought. _This should have been enough._ He was surprised that in a heart hollow with grief, another heartbreak could take place but it did.

“Be that as it may,” he said. “I want you to heal as best as you can. I am not losing another son to this damned trial – in any way,” he added because they had been so close to losing Maekar so many times, the last few by Daeron’s own deeds, as needed as they had been at the time. Aemon’s leaving for the Citadel had been the final wedge that had eventually turned into a rift. It was strange that such a horror brought them back together, even after causing so much grief and guilt. “And I don’t want to be spared the truth anymore, Maekar.” Keeping silent about the truth had brought them here, after all.

Maekar nodded and looked at him. “I wonder what Saryl told you,” he said. “But I’m so happy that it was not Rhaegel who gave my secret away . So, he has not betrayed my trust in him, even now.”

“No, your brother didn’t betray you. I came to Lady Saryl’s chambers and talked to her. Rhaegel has guarded your secret well.”

“It looks ridiculous to worry about such things right now, is it not?”

Daeron shook his head. “No. Not ridiculous at all.”

Trust and betrayal were very important concepts for Maekar. He had undoubtedly thought Baelor’s decision to fight for Ser Duncan a betrayal… and the anger surged back to life, although its might was now greatly diminished.

“We’ll get through this,” he promised and wondered when these conflicting emotions would fade. It might take just as much time as it would take Maekar to feel a little better. Even now, they could not talk about this. Maekar saying that it had been an accident and Daeron hearing it would somehow make it less so, as if words had the power to conjure a different reality that felt more… real than what they actually said.

Maekar could see it too – Daeron knew it by the way his shoulders slumped for a moment before he snapped himself back into his usual erect posture. Only now did Daeron realize that he had not taken a seat but kept standing, as a prisoner awaiting his sentence. The thought that he might never leave the prison of his own mind was unbearable to Daeron but underneath, there was a tiny flicker of dark contentment because the man who had dealt the fatal blow did not deserve freedom. A heartbeat later, this flicker died off but Daeron knew it would come back. _Go back to her_ , he thought because no matter what, Maekar would not accept comfort from him even now, when he needed it so badly. It felt strange to think that he now relied on the woman he had actively pretended to be unaware about for years to keep his son on the surface and heal him as much as possible at all. That was what a world without Baelor did to people. Daeron shivered and looked at the window and then back again. The new day was shaping bleak and lifeless as life itself.

 

* * *

 

 

**The End**


End file.
